


jamming in your room while it pours rain

by CreationSylph



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Feelings, Gen, Thought Projection, describing my environment and mental state, just rambling, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreationSylph/pseuds/CreationSylph
Summary: Another projection/vent fic. Hope you guys like it.





	jamming in your room while it pours rain

You decide to do something you haven't done in a long while.  
You decide to wash your face, brush your hair and teeth, and get dressed nice and comfy for bed.  
You make your way to the bathroom slowly, leisurely. There's no rush.  
Your bathroom is a wreck, putting it kindly. The sink could use a good cleaning, as could the dirty mirror. The floor is in need of a bit of TLC itself. You pay no attention to the clutter and disarray, you never do.  
Which is how it got this bad in the first place.  
Your mind plays the same broken record of "Should probably tidy up a bit. Will make sure to get up and do it tomorrow."  
You probably wont. You'll sleep until late afternoon because there's no work. You'll go back to wearing your pajamas all day and spending the day pissing about on your phone or computer, eat junk when you remember to, and maybe clean the kitchen minimally so your housemate doesn't bitch you out for not doing dishes.  
Again.  
You brush your hair, lost in the rare quiet of your head. Usually it's more.. like TV static. No real thoughts, just background noise that never shuts up.  
You wash your face, then brush your teeth.  
You hold your toothbrush under the faucet of the bathtub, as the sink is full of random items and therefor you cant turn on the water, and wet it before grabbing the tube of paste and running a line of blue gel over the bristles. You wet it again and scrub until your tongue doesn't feel crap on your teeth.  
You spit the foam in the toilet and flush it away.  
You walk to your room, treading over the mess of clothes on the wooden floor without a care. You undress out of your clothes and throw on a black tee that smells clean at least. It's got holes in it and it's labeled with the name of some band you don't really like or listen to, but someone you once loved gave it to you long ago.  
So of course you keep it.  
Rather than hunt for some sort of bottoms, you just opt to be in your boxers. You still feel numb and all is still and quiet. He must have gone to bed already.  
You get on your cell, logging into a chatroom app and join the voice chat. You don't talk, just mute your mic.  
Just hearing people's voices is comforting.  
You put on slow, quiet music on your IPod, laying it on your nightstand. A half burnt through cigarette sits waiting in a cup. Mugs and cups are scattered all over your room among the clothes and junk food wrappers.   
Your bed is piled with... Things. Just assorted things you must have thrown on it to get them off something else, or in a frenzied search for some buried thing. You toss everything on the floor in respective corners, clearing it off and grabbing the blankets off the floor. You toss them haphazardly on the bed and lay down.  
You listen to the music, the voices of your friends, the sound of rain on the roof and window.  
All noises that make the silence in your head no less unnerving.  
Your name is Stuart Pot, and you haven't been medicated in almost a month now.  
And for the first time, you feel ok.


End file.
